


they didn't understand (and it didn't matter)

by Lysces



Category: The Lord of the Rings (Movies), The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 07:30:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17700197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lysces/pseuds/Lysces
Summary: A new age dawned in Middle Earth, but the bonds of love and friendship forged in the last age endured and grew stronger.





	they didn't understand (and it didn't matter)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rosencrantz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rosencrantz/gifts).



Aragorn didn’t understand the purpose of their tally.

It had made sense as a morbid game to cut the heaviness of battle, but it didn’t stop when peace fell. Still they ran a score as they helped clean up the ruined Minas Tirith. Gimli collected more dropped knives from the battlegrounds by six, while Legolas beat him in arrows by twenty-three, after some loud dispute over whether broken arrows should be included in the score. The other workers laughed and shook their heads even as they stood ankle-deep in the reeking sludge of a week-old battlefield.

Legolas won every one of their impromptu foot races between the gates of the city and the infirmary where they delivered supplies and bore away waste, despite Gimli’s claim that dwarves were natural sprinters. Aragorn never did find out who had won their contest for the best smoke rings, but he had seen the aftermath one chilly night, the mismatched pair of them stumbling arm-in-arm down the cobbled streets, flushed red with pipe weed and laughter. He never learned of their secret contest to see who could prompt the most smiles from him—double the points for genuine laughter—but in those chaotic days in the aftermath of the War of the Ring, he treasured the easy company of his friends.

* * *

His father didn’t understand why Legolas would want to traipse all over Arda with a dwarf in tow. Though the Greenwood was green once more, though at last they were joined to their neighbors by bonds of friendship forged strong in the fires of war, though so many of the Sylvan elves had not yet heard the call of the sea and so tarried still in their beloved forest—it was no longer home to Legolas. He’d found a new home, somewhere on the road. He had lived many centuries before he’d learned that home didn’t have to be a place.

His father didn’t understand why Gimli wanted to depart again so soon after completing his last adventure. Gimli was hailed as a hero in the halls of Erebor, and such was his right. He had more than done his people proud, and in the eyes of the dwarves glittered admiration and awe. Gloin was old, his beard more white than grey, and it was apparent to all with eyes that it was the acceptable time for Gimli to come into his own as a Dwarf Lord.

Gimli too saw himself with changed eyes, but he did not see what his kin saw. They saw a hero victorious at the end of his journey; Gimli saw his journey as just begun. He lingered long enough to pay his respects to the late Dain Ironfoot and see Thorin Stonehelm crowned King Under the Mountain. Then he bid farewell to Erebor, at least for the present time.

* * *

The forest didn’t understand that the war was over. Still the trees of Fangorn groaned at the presence of Gimli’s axe, and the ghosts lingering over the scar of Isengard howled on starless nights. The trees afforded no trust to the armed travelers that trod over their roots. Legolas sang to them, gentle reassurances in the lilting tongue of the elves that Gimli didn’t yet understand. They stayed there some weeks, not bothering to count the days. By the time they left, Fangorn no longer tensed at their presence, and Gimli knew the words to several Sindarin lullabies. 

* * *

Eomer didn’t understand why they revered the caves of Aglarond as a holy place, that expanse of rock beneath the old fortress at Helm’s Deep.

But the new king of Rohan had not seen the caves.

They had needed to duck and crawl under low ceilings to get to the main cavern, Legolas more so than Gimli, which the dwarf wasted no opportunity to remark upon. When at last they emerged into the open and could raise their heads to look about, their bickering sputtered out.

This was a place untouched by the outside world. Brilliant veins of luminescent mithril ran through the cavern walls, the likes of which had not been seen in Arda since the First Age. It was like an image from a fever dream, enormous and otherworldly in the cavern’s scant light, and each would have considered it unreal if not for the other’s presence like an anchor to the present moment. It was too beautiful, Gimli realized, to ever destroy; thus did he vow that this cavern would never be mined for its ore, but preserved as a gathering place for all free folk to come and admire.

So did it pass that Gimli, son of Gloin, came to be Dwarf Lord of Aglarond; long were his days, and full of laughter and fellowship.

* * *

Their companions didn’t understand why they brought their arms with them to the Kindly West, now, in these aged days of peace when orcs and goblins and dragons were just the things of stories. Decades had passed since Sam, Merry, and Pippin had set aside their arms, now polished and displayed above their fireplaces to prompt stories over afternoon tea. So too had it been decades since arms were needed. The bow of Legolas sang now only for sport, and the most recent victim of Gimli’s axe had been wood for their campfire.

Legolas hung a target from the branch of an ash tree and showed off for the hobbits’ younger children and grandchildren, who gasped and clapped as though he were a wizard working great feats of magic. Of course, these children were too young to ever have seen Gandalf’s fireworks. Despite the grey in his beard, Gimli won their contest to see who could lift the most hobbit children at once, and Merry had rewarded his victory with a pack of Old Toby. They shared it long into the night after their kin had gone to their beds, the five of them reminiscing on days long past.

* * *

The elves of Valinor didn’t understand how the tiny craft even reached the white shores. They were all the more perplexed to see a lone elf jump out onto the sand and turn to offer a hand to a dwarf crowned with brilliant white hair. Never before had a dwarf set foot on these shores, and they hardly knew what to make of him when he approached them with a friendly grin and a mischievous glint in his eye—unbeknownst to them, the dwarf and his companion were competing to see who could provoke the first laughter, and he had no intention of losing.


End file.
